Dogless Days of August

Monday delivered that rarest of events in 2011, a sunny day. Big Jim Troke persuaded a few pals to spend the day sheathing the walls and roof of his 24x16 personal warehouse. Some might imagine that a stretch in the swimming hole might have been a preferable option on a semi-hot day but, truth to tell, I still get a kick out of productivity and I was just about as happy seeing the results of the day’s labours as Jim himself.

Jim’s project delivered a jump start. The next two days I fired up the generator and put the saws into action for the first time this summer. As a consequence the sunroom has a few additional bookshelves including some face-on units providing improved easier access to the cabin’s atlases and a few oversized books.

On Monday evening Lynn and Louise invited us to join them and Dad George for a musical event at the Highland Village in Iona. The Musique Royale Festival presented the Best of Boxwood 2011 at the 137-year-old Malagawatch church. The old church pews offer the last word in discomfort: a hard wooden seat barely a foot wide, and an unforgiving hard straight back. The music made up for the spartan seating. Boxwood features traditional Scottish and Irish music – some of it 250 years old – delivered by flute, harp, small Scottish pipes et al. In Cape Breton ‘Traditional Scottish music’ typically brings the fiddle to mind but, no, on this occasion there wasn’t a fiddle in sight.

Superb though the music was, the most memorable moment occurred just as intermission got underway when Boxwood director Chris Norman dropped his flute and made a beeline for the twins. Like a hummingbird swarming a pair of fresh fuchsia blooms, he made no bones about finding Lynn and Louise more fetching than anyone else in the building. The maestro declared his ardour for a hug – and got what he wanted. What must it be like to be so irresistible?

Wednesday was highlighted by a typically protracted breakfast with pal Donald Dunbar. Even in his 91st year Don is a wunderkind of engagement and ideas. Once a month in Victoria a gang of Victoria pals assembles at Swans Pub to discuss and debate the big issues of our time. I miss the Swans lads when I’m in Cape Breton but Donald provides a worthy substitute.

And finally, for those dead keen to know about such things: yes, Cape Breton’s weather continues to set new standards for unseasonable cold and wet. No, I have yet to screw up the courage to take a dip in the old swimming hole. No, Old Man Nagel still declines to cut his hair. Over and out.